


Michelin Star

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh Go…" and his hands were wrenching at the duvet, legs somehow crossed at the ankles, behind his lover's head, pulling Lestrade closer, despite something in the back of his mind telling him this really, really wasn't what nice, well-brought up boys did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Michelin Star

Michelin Star

 

Lestrade was hot, sweaty and irritated by workmates and criminals alike. He pushed the front door closed behind him, closing out the day, the noise of London traffic and some of the summer heat.

 

He kicked off his shoes and dumped down a briefcase full of work he still had to do. Then he walked into the large office in the front room.

 

"Evening," he said, sliding his hand over Mycroft's shoulder, then kissing the top of his head.

 

"Difficult day?" Mycroft asked, leaning back into the touch, dropping his head backwards for a proper kiss.

 

"Mm, usual," Lestrade answered. "You?"

 

"Oh, you know, quite successful, in the main."

 

"Good," Lestrade trailed his hand across Mycroft's shoulders and walked away. "Need to shower before dinner," he called, already on his way upstairs.

 

Mycroft sat back in his chair, then made a decision, pushing the files into a heap and dumping them back into the large safe. His relationship with Lestrade was young – although they had known each other for some years, it had been a big step to move from business to personal. He stood and stretched, then climbed the stairs, his bare feet silent on the thick carpet.

 

Lestrade was in the bedroom, dumping his shirt into the laundry basket and readying himself for a wash. Mycroft could read the stress and tension in his body, and adding that to the curt greeting he could tell that the other man had had a trying day. The lack of the usual chatter just confirmed his suspicions.

 

Lestrade, now naked, headed for the large en suite, and Mycroft heard the water begin to flow. He waited a few moments, removing his own clothing, hearing the change in the sound of the water as Lestrade stepped under the spray, then followed. He allowed himself a long moment to appreciate Lestrade's body, muscles covered with just the perfect amount of flesh, a very slight belly, short hair still standing up at all angles, despite the pounding water. And then he stepped into the stall, hands reaching through the spray to massage the chest, sliding through the soap bubbles, enjoying the surprise in Lestrade's eyes as they snapped open.

 

"It seemed you could do with some help relaxing," he said, continuing the movement of his hands, reaching for Lestrade's shoulders and gently turning him around, working on his back, using the soap to allow his hands to slip easily over flesh.

 

It didn't take long before Lestrade was taking a more active interest in proceedings, kissing Mycroft, letting his hands roam across Mycroft's body. A soapy flannel was also employed, cleaning the sweat and London grime off their bodies, washing away the stress along with the dirt.

 

Finally Lestrade turned the flow of water off, still kissing Mycroft, pushing him out of the shower and snagging one of the towels, rubbing it gently over Mycroft's skin, pushing it over his wet hair and finally wrapping it around him before Lestrade grabbed a towel for himself, giving his skin a cursory wipe, hair just enough of a scrub to stop it dripping in his face. Then he continued his kisses, pushing Mycroft backwards toward the bedroom, a smile on his face.

 

Mycroft allowed himself to be dominated. It was somewhat freeing, giving up the control to someone else. And he was pleased he had made the right choice between paperwork and checking on his lover. Sometimes Lestrade just needed to be left alone to work off his temper…other times he definitely needed close attention.

 

He allowed himself to be pushed down onto the bed, legs hanging over the edge, Lestrade crawling over him, trapping him, kissing his mouth, his chin, down his neck and around his ears, then dipping lower, across his chest and nipples, giving each a gentle bite before licking across them slowly with the flat of his tongue. Mycroft allowed his hand to stray into Lestrade's hair, fingers moving through the wet strands, gripping gently as the kisses reached the incredibly sensitive skin on his hips, in the crease at the top of his legs, breath hot on his erection, and finally the swipe of a tongue, the heat of a gentle suck. He gave a small gasp. He could feel Lestrade smiling, and almost hated him for it. Lestrade seemed to take great pleasure in any tiny slip in the rigid self-control he usually held over himself, and went out of his way to try to elicit such reactions. Mycroft wanted to find it infuriating, but as it generally led to some sort of mind-blowing pleasure, he couldn't complain too much.

 

He felt gentle fingers ghosting around his groin, barely touching the hair, lightly brushing the top of his thighs, circling, then the backs of fingers stroking. He realised that, at some point, Lestrade had climbed down from the bed and was now kneeling on the floor, between his legs.

 

He was about to protest, to point out that he had intended to make Lestrade relax, but then his erection was surrounded by the smooth, wet heat of Lestrade's mouth. He let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a groan. And that damnable smile was back – albeit now around his cock.

 

His free hand slid over the bedding, grabbing it, trying to rid himself of some of the tension, trying to push upwards, but his toes were only just on the floor and had no purchase. And then even that was gone, as Lestrade lifted his legs, letting them first rest over his shoulders, then pushing them higher, using his forearms to hold them, and the heat of Lestrade's mouth dropped lower, gently sucking on his soft sack, and then the tip of his tongue slid over the skin below. Mycroft's eyes opened.

 

"Gregory," he said, in his gentle-yet authoritative tone. The one that had the perfect balance of scolding and amusement, especially when accompanied by his lover's full name.

 

There was a muffled 'Mmm,' in reply. And the tongue continued southwards, perfect nose now nudging his testicles.

 

"Gregory, don't…" he began, then rephrased. "You really shouldn't do…"

 

And suddenly there was a warm, surprisingly strong tongue sliding over and around a place where, in Mycroft's opinion, tongues did not belong. And it felt amazing. Someone gasped, and it had to be him, however much he would try to deny it.

 

"Oh Go…" and his hands were wrenching at the duvet, legs somehow crossed at the ankles, behind his lover's head, pulling Lestrade closer, despite something in the back of his mind telling him this really, really wasn't what nice, well-brought up boys did.

 

The thing that made his legs quiver, however, were the noises that Lestrade was making. The sort of sounds that Mycroft had previously heard when a dining companion had sampled a three-Michelin starred dessert, or a bottle of perfectly aged champagne. The soft, sensual moans of enjoyment, accompanied by lips and tongue seeming to kiss, suck, lick and lap at the sensitive opening. Mycroft could hear himself panting, words being dragged from him, then a hand closed around his shaft, cool fingers tightening the grasp, moving in slow, almost teasing motions, the thumb and forefinger sliding up and over the head.

 

"Oh…I…" he panted, a hand reaching for Lestrade, needing to touch, needing to spur Lestrade on.

 

A hand found his on the bed, fingers sliding together, interlocking, and his grip was uncontrollably tight, his balls tightening as the tongue circled his hole, then slid inside, lips softly surrounding, gentle suction, the tongue intruding further, thrusting in and out further each time. Mycroft's mind was shaking off all the thoughts of it being dirty or wrong as Lestrade moaned again and the vibrations along with the slide of a thumb through the slick moisture on the tip of his cock made him shudder and from deep inside him the heat inexorably spread, his muscles shaking uncontrollably, feet tightening behind Lestrade's head, using his shoulders to give him the purchase to thrust into the tight fist whilst keeping the stiff tongue and warm, panting breath gusting over his wet hole. There was the exciting rub of stubble contrasting with the heat of the mouth and the cool breeze of breath on the moist, sensitive skin. All the sensations warring and fighting to be the best, all making him just want more of everything, more of Lestrade. He was torn between wanting the feeling to last forever and desperately racing toward orgasm and the relief and pleasure that would bring.

 

"Oh God…Oh Christ…" the words were only half formed as he panted, gasping, and threw his head back, arching his body into the pleasure, desperate for neither of the touches to end, and finally he felt the waves of orgasm wash over him, the wet spurting across his stomach, falling on his hips and thighs. And finally he collapsed, boneless, his legs weak, slight tremors of pleasure still washing over him as Lestrade swiped long, gentle licks from his hole to his balls, then beyond, sucking his sensitive cock, and crawling back up the bed. Mycroft moaned in pleasure, words deserting him, reaching for the warmth of a hug and smiling, eyes half closed.

 

He kissed Lestrade, conscious of the wet lips and where they had been. Taking in the wide smile he lifted a heavy arm to push his fingers through Lestrade's come-splattered hair, adding more white to the dark.

 

"You naughty, naughty man," he murmured, feeling a very hard cock pushing against his hip.

 

 

 


End file.
